


How NSY Survived Without Sherlock Holmes

by zeebee823



Series: Just Close Your Eyes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1349161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeebee823/pseuds/zeebee823
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Scotland Yard has been known to rely heavily on Sherlock Holmes to figure out murders and the like. But after the Reichenbach Fall, will they stay sane without the consulting detective? Or will they have to get assistance from a somewhat-questionable source?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the beginning, there was a crime scene.

Sally Donovan was pissed. Her anger wasn’t exactly rational, per say, but considering the circumstances, it made a bit of sense.

“The only bad thing about the Freak’s swan dive is that we were relying heavily on him.” she muttered to Anderson. He looked at her as if he was offended by her saying that, but she merely ignored his melodrama and continued looking at the current - and latest - crime scene. The landlady was in tears, unable to answer questions, and a few other people that were living in the apartment where the crime took place were starting to be woken by the ruckus. Considering it was 6:30 in the morning and most people were up and getting papers and coffee and whatnot, Sally wasn’t really surprised at people coming out and wanting to know what the hell had happened. She sighed, and picked up a roll of “CAUTION” tape, then started fencing in the scene of the crime, which had happened, luckily enough, on the first floor of an apartment building that had multiple doors. She caught Greg’s grateful look, shook her head, and once done taping, proceeded to stand guard at the door of the apartment.

A police officer of lower rank ran up to her. He was small and looked terrified, most likely because he caught sight of the blood. “I’m going for a coffee run. Would you like me to get you anything?”

“Black, two sugars, please.” She handed over a few pounds and with a look, sent him on his way.

“Aren’t y’all just a bunch of eager beavers?” Sally whipped her head to the left, where she saw a teenaged girl, presumably American (if her accent was to be believed), in jeans and a hoodie. Sally just have her a piercing glare, hoping to drive her off, but the girl was completely ignoring her gaze. “I mean, for a bunch of people up at stupid-o-clock, you’re doing a great job of not falling asleep or anything, from what I can tell.”

“Thank you, I suppose.” Sally’s voice was flat, practically screaming at this teen to leave her alone, but the was thankfully saved by Greg wandering over to where she was standing. He had bags under his eyes and his nose looked red-ish, as if he’d already rubbed it in frustration and/or annoyance one too many times today.

“Do you need some help, miss?”

“Nah. Do you?” The teen tilted her head to her right, revealing a genuine face asking a genuine question.

“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to tell you that, miss.”

After a moment of semi-awkward silence, she spoke again: “I’m taking that as a yes. Can I try to help?”

Sally shot Greg a look of “What is she, the Freak’s replacement?” Greg merely furrowed his eyebrows at Sally.

“Can Sergeant Donovan and I talk privately for a moment, please?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets and looking a bit uncomfortable - he didn’t know if she was similar to Sherlock in unpredictable-ness or not.

“Sure.” The girl smiled slightly, turned around, and walked a good distance away so as to not hear them. Sally was immediately on Greg’s case.

“Are you really considering asking for help? From a civilian who has no credentials at all?!” She was angry and shocked - a bad combination for her, he knew. Greg sighed reluctantly.

“I’m afraid so. Ever since _he_ was killed, the crime rate has gone up, and we can’t keep up without help. It’ll just get worse and then people will protest and then no one will be happy with the situation. If she does get some information out of the scene and solves the crime, then great. If she has no idea what she’s talking about, then we’ll immediately know and kick her out. Is that a good enough compromise for you?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly, his whole face tired. In the few weeks after Sherlock had died, as he’d said, the crime rate as up and the department wouldn’t be large enough or experienced enough to be able to handle the crimes. He’d been getting between five and seven hours of sleep a night on average, but felt more exhausted than before. Possibly because he’d never got enough time to mourn for his - dare he say it? - friend.

Sally gave an irritated sigh. “Alright, but if she’s another fake Freak, I don’t want to be held responsible for my actions.” After Sherlock had died, many “fakers,” as Sally called them, had attempted to be another Freak Holmes. None had succeeded so far. She ducked under the police tape and walked over to the teen from before and tapped her shoulder.

The teen turned her head. “Am I in?” she asked, small smile on her face.

“Yeah. C’mon. I’ll show you in. You’ll need to get in an evidence suit.”

“That’s fine. Lead the way.” The teen silently followed after Sally Donovan, who was now merely skeptical and annoyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the "Sherlock" TV show, or BBC, or anything except for the plot and Evlyn.


	2. The First of Many Lessons and Cases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where her story began...

After Sally and Greg got an evidence suit for the teen (and, as she was putting it on, learned her name - Evlyn Heichelbech, pronounced "hi-kull-back," and age - 16), they lifted up the "CAUTION - CRIME SCENE" tape to let her duck under it and make her way to the door of the apartment.

"She's as disrespectful as he was," Sally hissed at Greg, only looking slightly less annoyed when the younger officer from before handed her her cup of coffee. She gave him a nod of dismissal and he skittered off.

Greg just gave her a tired version of the look that said, "please don't make me deal with this right now," rubbed the bridge of his nose, then looked to the doorway when he noticed the lack of commotion that would be made by a random stranger sauntering onto a crime scene. Instead, what he saw and walked to was the teen - Evlyn - politely waiting for him and Sally at the front door to the apartment. Her hands were clasped behind her back  as she slowly swayed back and forth on her feet, staring off into the distance thoughtfully.

Greg walked up to her and tapped her twice on the shoulder to get her attention. She whipped her head around tensely, then, seeing it was just him, relaxed minutely.

"You're not afraid of blood, are you?"

"If I was, do you think I'd've volunteered to help?" She flashed him a smile as his face relaxed with the gentle banter. He entered the apartment, Evlyn trailing him, and Sally trailing her. He walked into the bedroom and leaned on the wall by the light switch, Sally mimicking his motion so as to get a better view on Evlyn.

"Why is it ALWAYS the bedroom?" She immediately looked to the floor to examine the blood splatters there, bending over a little before furrowing her brow and standing back up.

"Y'all are going to have blood tests done, right?" Her voice was bland, almost absent, as she carefully stepped closer to the bed.

"Of course, we've already sent them in, we're just waiting for results. We're not imbeciles." Sally's voice was sharp as she glared at the teen she would then on mentally call "mini-freak."

Evlyn hummed thoughtfully, then turned to the two of them. "I knew of the victim while he lived here, but not much - only his last name, Johnson. What else can you tell me about him?"

Greg grabbed his notepad from his pants pocket and flipped to this case's page. "He's 23, works as a secretary at a bank here in London, has degrees in business and economics, only child, both parents are still alive. He wasn't born and raised here, though." He looked up to Evlyn, who had turned back to look at the rest of the room thoughtfully. "He wasn't depressed, as far as we can tell, but it looks like a typical suicide to me." He watched her a little bit warily as she slowly wandered over to the hanging corpse. Her head was tilted up and her hands clasped behind her back, standing like she was earlier, only this time, there was no swaying.

"He wasn't on any sort of prescription that caused suicidal tendencies?" She was slowly walking around the body, eyeing it up and down. "And do you know how long he's been dead?"

"No prescriptions that we're aware of, though we're having our people question his parents about that and other things. He was last seen walking out of the apartment a week ago, and an odd smell was first noticed a day or so ago."

After a somewhat heavy moment of silence, Evlyn asked - "Have either of you ever thought about committing suicide?" It was a blunt sort of question, but she still wasn't looking at them - her eyes were still on the corpse, her head slightly tilted to the right in thought.

Sally was outraged. "Of course not, where did you get that idea, how could you even THINK -"

"Sally."

"WHAT!?" She turned on him, eyes in a rage, the beginnings of betrayal starting to show.

"Let her explain."

A beat of silence passed before she slumped on the wall again and stared daggers at the floor.

"Well!" Evlyn brutally murdered the silence a she stood up straight and distractedly bounced her hands off her legs. "The blood by the door most likely isn't the victims, and for someone as unlikely to be depressed as he was, don't you think that a friend or colleague would've noticed scars or acting jittery?" She turned her head to Lestrade, who was staring at her thoughtfully.

"That's true... But what if he had no friends or colleagues?"

"Good point. But the pictures around his apartment and, most likely, the contacts on his phone tell a different story."

"Would you like to see the phone?"

Evlyn's eyes widened at the suggestion, as if she hadn’t thought he’d trust her enough to touch potentially vital evidence. "Sure." Greg then handed her the plastic baggie that had the victim's phone in it. Since she was wearing gloves, Evlyn then took the phone out of the bag and swiped it open, only to find that one would have to enter a password in letters to get on the phone. She looked up from the phone for a moment, completely focused, then snapped her head down and started trying out passwords. The first three times she was incorrect, but she was correct on her fourth attempt at entering the right password. The victim's home screen was bland and he had one of those pre-set backgrounds as well. She opened up his contacts, scrolled down a bit, then smirked. 

"He had 138 contacts, Lestrade, more than half of which are from when he was in high school, where he used to live. The majority of this half is made up of drug dealers."

A moment of shocked and confused silence passed as Evlyn handed back the phone.

"Drug dealers!?" Sally was just confused now.

"Yep." Evlyn just seemed happy that her hypothesis seemed to be correct.

"How do you know that these people are drug dealers?" Lestrade was just worried that Evlyn would actually turn out to be a mini-Sherlock, drugs and all.

"Because dealers have a way of staying secretive when needed, for example, on contact lists. And before you ask, no, I did not do drugs, I just know a lot of people who actually deal drugs. Evidently, drug dealers are lightweights."

Lestrade and Donovan just looked at her like she was touched in the head.

So she explained, "When dealers hand out their business cards to clients, on the back of the card is a few suggestions that that particular customer could use as a false name in their contacts list. For example, our victim here did dealings with someone who gave him cocaine, which is evident by this contact." She pointed to the contact that had the name 'COCA Campaign.' "If you take away the 'CA Camp' from 'COCA Campaign,' you get what sounds like..."

"... Cocaine." Donovan, surprisingly enough, finished Evelyn's sentence, and even she seemed surprised that she had taken that opportunity to contribute.

"Also, the area code is weird. No area code starts with a zero." Lestrade made this observation as he turned his gaze up to Evelyn's. She nodded.

"So was he a druggie or a dealer?" She asked them, a small smirk on her face. She'd get their brains working in no time.

Lestrade thought for a moment, then said, "If he was a druggie, he'd be in much worse shape than he is now, so..."

"He was a dealer." Anderson's voice from the doorway was unexpected, and they all looked up with varying levels of surprise on their faces.

"So he was murdered for an unpaid debt?" Sally asked for confirmation.

"Yeah. The blood test was finished and the guy whose blood is on the floor was found bleeding in an alley. He's been taken in for questioning."

"Great. My job here is finished, then. Is there anything else you think I can help with?" Evlyn turned to Lestrade, who handed her his phone.

"If you're willing to help us with future cases, then just put your number in my phone so I can contact you when needed." She stared at the phone, looked at Lestrade, then back to the phone before grabbing it, unlocking it, and entering her contact info. She then called herself from his phone, so she'd have his number as well and wouldn't mistake the London number for a stranger who dialed the wrong number. She then put the phone back in his waiting hand and started to take off the gloves.

"I'd be fine with coming in for questioning if needed. Hopefully I won't see you all too soon!" She threw them a wide smile over her shoulder as she briskly walked out of the room, leaving three hopeful yet slightly confused people wondering what the hell had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the "Sherlock" TV show, or BBC, or anything except for the plot and Evlyn.


	3. The End of Her Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> … and this is how it was allowed to continue

Mycroft Holmes was the sort of man who expected readable reactions from people.

The current reaction to his actions he was receiving was one he had not been faced with before. Thus, he was somewhat impressed and somewhat apprehensive of how New Scotland Yard would continue to act towards this female detective that he had NOT called in to replace his “dead” brother, thank you very much.

Said reaction (which was really more of a non-reaction than anything) to his actions (which were, quite frankly, normal for him to do but considered rude by everyone else) was for this beginner detective to come into her apartment (which was unlocked), quickly look around to see him sitting in one of her armchairs (with his left ankle on his right knee and spinning his umbrella boredly on its tip in his left hand), then turn her head back to the door so she could lock it behind her. Then, acting as if a man who was (to his knowledge) a stranger to her casually come into her living space and make himself at home was a regular occurrence, she continued to go through with what seemed to be her routine for when she came home. She poured herself a cup of iced tea and sat down on the couch, close enough that she could attack him if she tried, but far away enough to imply that she thought he would fight back. She slouched in her seat, resting her back against the cushion, and silence fell over the room. It seemed, to Mycroft, to be tense, but this girl seemed to be completely ignoring any sort of awkwardness she most likely knew was in the room. In fact, she seemed to be debating whether or not she should grab a book out of her bookcase by eyeing it, like a bored predator on the prowl. Once the silence has gone on for five minutes, concluding that she’s not going to say the first word, Mycroft speaks up.

“Usually when one has a guest they offer them a beverage. Usually warm.”

“ _Usually_ when one has a _guest_ said guest actually knocks and is invited in, then given a drink, which is usually hot if it’s cold outside.” The girl - Evlyn Heichelbech, from the file his subordinates had gathered on her - was glaring at the coffee table in the middle of the living room. “In case your filled-to-the-brim-with-poshiness mind hasn’t noticed, it’s quite warm outside and this is not a usual situation.” She gave a heavy sigh, closing her eyes momentarily. “But since I’m a good host and my parents actually raised me with manners, I suppose I should offer you a drink.”

He waited for a moment, but no offer came. He smirked at the girl - Heichelbeck - she was quite amusing, unexpectedly enough. He tapped his ever-present umbrella on his ankle. He decided to wait, then changed the subject.

“So what exactly is a young woman such as yourself doing in London?” He leaned his elbow on an armrest and his chin in his hand.

“My answer depends on your response to the question of what you’re doin’ in my friggin apartment.” It seemed, he noted, that when she got aggravated her American accent started to make itself more known. He decided to toy with her a bit.

“I asked first.”

“I was here first. Technically. Plus I’m pretty sure I can kick you out at any time - literally and figuratively, of course.” Her expression was back to neutral, and she was still staring straight ahead, holding her cup in her hand and swirling it in thought.

“I don’t think that literally kicking a member of the British government would be in your best interests, Miss Heichelbech.”

“I don’t think that breaking and entering into a foreigner’s apartment is going to ease the tension between America and Britain, depending on how I word my statements and how emotional I may or may not get.” She finally turned her head to look at him over her glasses, as if she were the elder one here and scolding him. “So speak up, bucko, before I call the police on your ass and prevent you from ever having a career in government again.” His eyes widened at her audacity. He sighed, then handed her his business card.

“Mycroft Holmes. Member of the British Government. I do wish we could have met under less tense circumstances, Miss Heichelbech.” She eyed his card, then put it in her jacket pocket.

“I’d return the sentiment, Mr. Holmes, but I’m not sure I’d call this circumstance ‘tense’ - I think that ‘more pleasant circumstances’ would be better wording on your part.”

He blinked at her. “My apologies.”

“No problemo, Holmes.” She stood up from her place on the couch and wandered over to the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Do you have coffee?” She scrunched up her nose, mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘figures he’d like coffee’, then replied: “No, but I do have tea and juice. No alcohol either.”

“Then no thank you.” She shrugged. “Your loss.” After refilling her cup with tea, she sat back down on the sofa, at an angle so she was clearly facing him. “I assume you’re here to converse about my helping New Scotland Yard earlier this week?”

Mycroft nodded. She sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“What, exactly, are you gaining from assisting the imbeciles at New Scotland Yard?”

She hummed thoughtfully, then said bluntly - “The reassurance that the Yarders are smarter than they seem.”

“I find it hard to believe that you acquire no personal gain from this, considering how it will most likely end up taking up most of your time.”

“I have all the time in the world.” She spread her arms out, then leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and her hands clasped around her cup. “Do you know exactly why I came to London, Mr. Holmes?” Her eyes met his, and she continued - “Considering who you are, I’m sure that you have answers to questions like that about myself. So tell me, why did I come to London? To meet a friend? Family? Was I banned from America for some reason? What exactly do you know about my story, Mr. Holmes?”

He nearly glared at her, but held back. She was impressive, he noted. Blunt, much more emotional than his brother, but impressive, and most likely a good detective because of that. She seemed to be the type that panicked when a stressful situation came up, but, according to what he knows, has gotten better at hiding said panic. ‘I suppose,’ he thought, ‘she would make a good stand-in for my brother for the time being.’

“I know enough, Miss Heichelbech.” He uncrossed his legs and stood up. “Thank you for your time.”

“Thank you for not coming here with any noticable goons.” She smirked at him, and he turned to leave her apartment.

“Have a nice night, Miss Heichelbech.”

“You too, Mr. Holmes.”

He left the apartment, got into the waiting car, and drove away. Up in her apartment, Evlyn was holding the sides of her head in her hands, having set down her cup moments before. “Oh dear,” she said, “What the hell have I agreed to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this segment of Evlyn's story! 
> 
> I don't own the "Sherlock" TV show, or BBC, or anything except for the plot and Evlyn.

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently been asking myself, "How the fuck did NSY not dissolve into chaos after Sherlock's fall?" Here's my own answer. I'm still not sure how this came to be, but there you are. If you like it, comment or kudos or whatnot. 
> 
> I own only the plot and the mysterious teen-person.


End file.
